In a dream this morning, I was one-poem-in to a poetry reading. Large, well-lit room, an audience of about forty. It was a relaxed scene—I knew some of the people; many of them had heard me read before. 

I was giving the first poem a little space when someone about half-way back on the right raised his hand. I nodded and he said “That poem only adds clarity to a narrow slice of existence. I want the poem that explains it all.”

Without missing a beat I said “I can give you that poem in one word.” The one word poem that explains it all had just come to me. Go figure. 

I met the man’s eyes, and just as I was about to pronounce the one word, a series of unrelated interruptions broke through the room—a door opened admitting four or five people in animated conversation, a PA system somewhere crackled to life in the middle of an announcement—it was as if a tempest blew through the room, as if papers were flying everywhere. The audience looked around, distracted, the moment seemed broken. 

But the man and I were still holding the gaze, and I said the word. We both smiled. No one but he and I heard it. The tempest blew itself out and everything settled. I cleared my throat, shuffled pages, and went on with the reading. No one else seemed to notice. 

I remember the word that was for me and him the necessary explanation at that moment. Can you guess it?  

I have often sent out a poem from the year as a solstice or New Year greeting in the form of a small broadside, or card. Not every year but every few. This year I wrote “Thanksgiving (occupy this)” on the day after Thanksgiving—it came together quickly and right away had the feel of the holiday poem for this year. 

I took a picture of the Olympics that morning and put together the broadside, sent it to a few friends. 

A few days later I began to take the message of the poem to heart and realized it was time to give access to all the poems. I already had the URL. Debi Bodett of 33 Image Design helped me build the site.